Idiosyncrasy - A Dazai fic
by Queenie Mab
Summary: Idiosyncrasy: a mode of behavior or way of thought peculiar to an individual. Only one person has ever glimpsed the true Dazai - the raw, powerful nature his ability forces him to suppress. While the loss of that person rewrites Dazai's direction in life, it also solidifies his determination to never allow another to get so close. Odasaku had both the gift of foresight and human
1. Chapter 1

Kunikida

Peering through yet another dingy window, I finally spot him. Dazai. His hair a mass of dark tufts that can somehow pass as an acceptable style regardless of societal standing, but simultaneously not promoted as desirable fashion by any group structure. I suspect it is as untamable as the person wearing it and yet, it never serves as a red flag to signal Dazai as feral in any situation. Perhaps his ability extends even so far as to neutralize his eccentric appearance or at the very least, people's perception of it.

I shake myself. He always does this to me, distracts me from my purpose with pointless mental gymnastics until my brain goes fuzzy and I find myself the butt of his jokes. I grit my teeth and push the tavern door open.

He sways on his barstool. I can see him smile in a drunken haze reflecting off the row of bottles lining the wall behind the bar. He props himself up with his left elbow on the bar top, his right hand gently stroking the cover of his favorite book. He doesn't react as I approach, but I see through that ruse. I've never been able to sneak up behind Dazai. Even drunk off his ass to the point his eyeballs are swimming in liquor, his observation skills do not falter. I tap him on the shoulder, reading his delayed reaction as he pretends surprise and falls backward, half off the barstool. My body behind him prevents him from falling completely off. I grip his biceps to keep him stable and answer his stupid amused smile up at me with a disapproving frown.

"You are too good to me, Kunikida," he sighs, nuzzling his eccentric mop of hair against my chest. "You must cut that out at once. If you grow too fond of me, it will hurt you when my suicide is finally successful."

I roll my eyes.

"Don't make assumptions, Dazai. More likely, you'll die at my hands accidentally after driving me insane with your nonsense."

His eyes widen momentarily as if an idea struck him or a sudden pain, and then they fall closed, his body slumping against my chest, his breath catching and I find myself supporting the majority of his body weight. I exhale sharply through my nose and start counting silently to myself. I am not in the mood for Dazai's dramatics right now.

When I reach fifty, my heart speeds up a bit, the back of my neck prickling as a cold shiver runs down my spine. "Dazai," I growl at him, tamping down any sounds of concern with my anger. His face remains still as if in sleep; smooth as though he hasn't a care in the world. I've lost count, but it's been too long between breaths. He couldn't have just died in my arms, could he? I'm a hair's breadth from freaking out. Not even Dazai can hold his breath and pull off an expression of perfect stillness for so long. My heart stutters, cold sweat sliding down from my temples … and then his eyelashes flutter open. He gazes up at me with the angelic innocence you'd expect to find in an Italian Renaissance painting before the smirk forming on his lips shatters the illusion.

"Do it," he whispers as a fire of fury breaks out under my skin, radiating from my heart, my muscles going tense. I'm halfway to dropping him before I see through his plan and instead tighten my grip on his sides. I push forward, pressing his back with my chest until he's fully seated on the barstool once again. He drops face forward onto the bar, his arms dangling uselessly at his sides, looking about as alert as a cooked noodle.

My heart thunders against my ribs as I realize how close Dazai had come to using me as weapon to kill himself. The floor in here is concrete. Had he fallen from the position I had him in, he'd have landed on his head and cracked his skull open or broken his skinny, bandage-wrapped neck.

I barely hold my composure as I remind him of my boundaries. "You should know me well enough by now, Dazai … I will not voluntarily participate in people dying before my eyes. I will not break my Ideal, especially for you."

Dazai arches an eyebrow which looks entirely strange with his cheek smooshed against the bar top. "Especially for me? You especially will not see _me_ die?" He narrows his eyes as if leering at me, lifting his head. "If I did not already know that you despise me, Kunikida, I'd suspect you just gave me a love confession."

My cheeks grow warm against my will. That isn't what I said at all, is it? I rack my brain. How did he arrive at such a ridiculous conclusion? I grind my teeth. Talking to Dazai is pointless. He catches me off-guard even when I've actively got my guards up.

By the time I can organize my thoughts once more to speak, he's flailing an arm down the bar, waving his hand limply for the bartender's attention.

I slam my hand down on top of his wrist, pinning it to his stupid suicide manual. "You've had enough for tonight, Dazai. Today's schedule has already been derailed thanks to your antics …" I chew him out, helping him down from the barstool and draping his arm across my shoulders to keep him upright. "… Disappearing from an active case without mentioning it to me … refusing to answer your phone … instigating the director into replacing us with Rampo and Tanizaki so I can track your ass down …" I have to pause every couple of seconds to keep Dazai from pulling us both to floor in a drunken heap. "… Only to end up finding you in this dive bar …" Dazai stamps on my foot, twisting his body in front of mine in an attempt to turn us back toward the bar. "I said you've had enou…"

"I know, you idealistic asshole!" he swears, suddenly sounding entirely sober and more than a little dangerous. If I had to compare the tone of his voice with an idea it would be talking to the barrel of a loaded gun. "You forgot my book!"

The last statement was delivered with a softer tone, the usual odd humor that is all Dazai, soothing the previous induction of fear. I glance at the ceiling, praying for patience and would have smacked myself in the forehead out of sheer aggravation were my hands and arms not tied up with Dazai and his twisted limbs, his bandages coming undone and making this pretzel dance that much more complicated. Fortunately, the bartender takes notice and calmly walks the book over to Dazai, handing it over and giving his hair an affectionate pat. My lip curls in disgust as he retreats. Stupid Dazai. I was so close to getting rid of that dratted book.

With difficulty and a great deal of swearing, I get Dazai piled into the backseat of the cab I'd left waiting only to find my arm trapped behind his back when I try to sit upright. The car lurches forward and merges with the rush hour traffic, the driver stepping on and off the brake every few car-lengths. Dazai crushes his arm on top of me, pulling me practically into his lap, my head cradled against his chest. "Don't fight me right now." His voice rumbles beneath my cheek, somehow soothing my temper instead of igniting it.

He hums.

I stop resisting and resign myself to the fate of being a cuddle-plushy to my alcohol-sodden, suicidal-maniac of a partner for the duration of the drive.

The gentle vibration from Dazai's humming, the warmth of the vehicle, maybe even the subtle hint of almond salve Dazai uses under his bandages lull me into a state of drowsiness I did not anticipate. I'm not sure how much time I lost, but the driver's loud bark of a voice wakes me with a start.

I blink, sliding my arm free at last from behind Dazai's snoring body, pins and needles running up the length of it and threatening to creep up my neck. I pay the driver with a wad of bills after regaining enough brainpower to work out that we've arrived at my place. Curses! I had intended to drop Dazai back off at his house, but I doubt I have enough cash left for the trip there and then back here again. No way will I trust that he will make it back inside without supervision.

I steel my resolve and then shake him into half-consciousness. Yanking, pulling, and lurching, we stagger up the walk to my apartment complex. Whatever. As long as I don't have to carry him like a bride over the threshold.

Dazai giggles as I unlock the door, hanging off of me like a bad habit or a cancerous growth. "You have never invited me to your home before, Kunikida. I feel like a blushing bride."

That's it. I shrug as the door swings open and duck out from under him, allowing him to crash face first onto the carpeted entryway.

Hey, it's not concrete; don't judge me.

XXX

After an hour of wrestling Dazai out of his clothes, getting his bandages changed, and tucking him in, I am finally able to wrap up my responsibilities for the day. Sitting at the dining table, I jot down the important details of today's ordeal, ending with having contacted the office and reassuring the director that Dazai and I are safe and accounted for. I rub the sleep from my eyes with pinched fingers. That man infuriates me. He's worse than a child. Worse, probably, than the most co-dependent, spoiled brat that ever existed. My glasses slide back onto the bridge of my nose as I stare at the ceiling tiles. 6561 dots in each of them; 118,098 in this room; 503,010 in the entire apartment, taking into consideration that five in the bedroom are sliced into thirds.

I scrub at my hair and pull the hair-tie out of it. Damn that Dazai! Even when he's not in the room, he derails my thought process and sends it off on tangents. I think it's a defense mechanism or something. My brain perks up at that thought and I flip through my Ideal to see if I've made that observation before. I haven't. I write it down.

 **Defense mechanism … Dazai-induced …** I tap my pen against my lip, considering … and then coming up blank. I write my next thought. **Defense against what? Discover ASAP!**

I yawn, stretching my arms above my head and then start working out the kinks in my back. I'm tired. I should go to bed. I get up to do just that when I recall Dazai is sleeping there already. It feels like every hair on my body suddenly stands on end as I pause mid-step.

Screw it all. I don't care if he is a guest; it's _my_ bed. I have a right to sleep in it. I push the bedroom door open and peer inside, holding my breath. Everything seems to be okay. That makes me even more suspicious.

I walk as softly as possible the few feet to the futon, peering down at the partner-forged-in-the-pit-of-hell. My lips twitch at the corners as my next thought arises. They sure make them cute in hell. I'm convinced that Dazai is cute as _his_ defense mechanism. If he were anything other, nobody would adopt him. He'd be a stray forever.

I frown. I hate that thought and more, I hate myself for thinking it.

His suicide manual had been tucked up against his chest when I got him settled earlier. Now it's fallen to the futon beside his hip. I pick it up. This damned book. And he insisted on cuddling with it like he'd cuddled with me in the cab earlier. My lip curls again. I do not appreciate the comparison my brain just made.

Dazai continues sleeping. He's not snoring now. His chest rises and falls regularly, his face a mask of peace. I recall the observation I'd made earlier in my Ideal and am no longer tired. If I want to know why I get so defensive because of Dazai, there may be some clues in this disgusting book that has him so enamored. I retreat as quietly as possible, taking the book with me to the table.

It feels different than I thought it would, this book. Lumpier, like the binding has been redone poorly. I've seen it open many times before, but this is the first time I've held it myself. Unlike Dazai, I respect my co-workers privacy.

I catch the smug smile before it fully forms on my lips. I swallow hard. I can't claim that any longer if I continue on this investigative path.

My fingers twitch against the book cover, the impulse to open the damned thing warring with the desire to put it down and be the bigger man.

Crap!

Upholding the Ideal means that I must do what I've written down. And that is to – I double check – **Defense against what? Discover ASAP**. Yes, I tell myself. Besides, I don't believe I have ever written explicitly that I should not invade the privacy of my co-workers. It's more along the lines of ... I flip to the front … Ah yes. **Do the things that you should do.**

I breathe a sigh of relief, my spirit finally at ease. I should do this, therefore I will.

I open the suicide manual and … and … hang on… This isn't Dazai's suicide manual at all. I flip through what appears to be about a fifty or so handwritten pages, none of which resemble the gruesome illustrated monstrosity I'd glimpsed in the past. I realize, after closer inspection, that Dazai has mutilated his beloved manual and transplanted the cover atop something else. My skin crawls. The concept feels a little too _Dr. Frankenstein_ for my tastes, but can I really say I'd put my all into the investigation if I shied away now? Absolutely not.

Resolutely, I straighten my posture and turn to the title page. I realize I'm in too deep when I read the inscription:

 **The Perfect Death of Dazai Osamu**

by _Oda Sakunosuke_


	2. Chapter 2

_Odasaku_

So many stories are never told. So many lives go forgotten, secrets swept to the grave with barely a whisper. This story is one of those, but it doesn't have to be. You could consider it a seedling, cast off and left for dead after the plant bearing it was struck down. It's up to each reader to decide how to proceed after finding such a story. Will you allow it to take root in your soul, to bear fruit through the course of your own life? Will you pass it on to another who may be better suited to the task? Will you burn the pages and raze the possibility forever? Only you can decide that. And so, while I hope this small story will thrive, I do not count it as more than a whisper at this point.

My name is Oda Sakunosuke, Odasaku to those I count as friends. There are currently two men who have that misfortune. I do not call it an honor because we are all dishonorable men. Perhaps that is why were drawn together.

Dazai, when we first met, was not at all what I had expected. I didn't foresee us becoming friends; on the contrary, the first time we met face to face, he tried to kill me.

His name was already legend on the streets, up there with the very heads of the Port Mafia. Dazai Osamu at the age of fifteen was a killing machine, programmed by Ougai Mori himself. He supposedly had a face that never changed, whether leading a celebration or slaughtering a ring of street urchins. He'd kill without pause, search bullet-addled corpses for clues, and his only interests lay in untangling webs of deceit and interrupting the schemes of any who tread on Mori's territory.

 _The biggest misfortune for Dazai's enemies is that they're Dazai's enemies._

 _His list of deeds writ in darkness and blood is enough to make even those in the Mafia tremble._

 _He was practically born to be one of them._

I had no reason to question the warnings I'd heard in back alley rings. I was simply in it for the paycheck.

I wanted to be a writer. Once a wise man, whose words had altered the course of my life, had said that to write a story was to write a life. He said I was qualified to meet the challenge. I know now that I may never realize my goal in the way I had expected, but perhaps through this record, this memoir, I can still make a difference.

I'd been working for two years with a group of smugglers. An ammunition raid we were on went wrong and a contingent of the Port Mafia took us down without a fuss. I'd ended up playing dead beside the bodies of my associates, my brain furiously running escape scenarios when Dazai entered the warehouse. It seemed like every breath in the place was sucked out the moment his foot slapped the concrete floor, the door behind him sliding shut. I was trapped, my heart thundering in my chest like a feeble flicker of flame before a candle gets snuffed out. I lay still, my face slack, surrounded by a dozen corpses, the sounds of Dazai's shoes clacking ever closer amplified by the silence.

A vision passed over me, my ability engaging. Dazai tripped over my ankle. I drew my knee up in reflex and then gunshots, six of them, followed, a geyser of blood filling my vision before everything went dark.

The present re-engaged. His footsteps coming closer.

Dazai's foot hit my ankle, the moment of truth was upon me. It was now or never. I kicked the gun he drew in that second from his hand, springing from a crouch and tackled him to the floor where I'd been lying a moment earlier. I pinned his wrist above his head, restraining his lower half between my thighs and under my legs. I held him in place with my other arm across his chest, his free arm tucked under it.

Our eyes met. My breaths came out harsh and ragged, my heart relentlessly beating with hyped-up adrenaline. Dazai's eyes were like black tunnels of nothingness, not even malice. His expression so blank, so _dead_ I wanted to shake him to see if he was okay.

His hand shifted underneath my chest, and while I didn't have a vision exactly, I smelled danger. I decided to change tack. There had to be a way to get that face to look alive. I squeezed his hips between my thighs, pressing into his gut with my elbow, before pulling back in time to miss the knife he had slipped from his sleeve and had aimed at my gut. I twisted again, leaning forward to draw his attention and grabbing his second wrist, forcing it up above his head while closing my lips on top of his. My brain was scrambled. What the hell kind of attack is this? Why did it make me feel so fucking alive?

Dazai's lips twitched under mine, waking me from whatever spell had captured me. I pulled back just enough to see his face, not giving him an inch to free himself.

His expression had changed. The mask-like state of absolute nothing was different. His lips twisted in a smirk, his eyebrows angled sharply. "What was that?" he wheezed, struggling to talk under the weight of my body on his lungs. "You think I'm here to pick up guys? You think this is the way to go about such a thing?"

"No," I answered honestly, my voice trembling. "It was the only way I could think of to stop you from killing me."

His eyes widened a fraction before narrowing and growing hard once more. Still, I felt his heart thundering beneath mine, proof he was just as alive as I was. "There is no point in staying alive in this world. Every step we take is one step closer to the grave. Why bother fighting it? Why try to stop it?"

I couldn't stand such talk. It broke my heart. I shut him up the only way I could think, by kissing him again, trapping the morbid complaints under a surprised muffle.

*ba-bump*

*ba-bump*

My ears were all beating heart sounds. A long moment passed with our mouths sealed together, our lips smashed. Dazai's tongue ran across my upper lip as I realized he'd stopped trying to resist. I broke the kiss. "Because of this, idiot!" I shouted at him, unable to keep my emotions, my fears in check any more. He simply raised his eyebrows, his forehead creased. I elaborated. "Doing the unexpected! Changing the stakes. That's the thrill of life. That's why!"

He stared up at me, my brain going into panic mode. If all the rumors about him were true, I had to make my escape soon. The problem was how to do it without killing him. But then, he started laughing. His stomach tensing and rolling under mine, full on cracking up. The most distracting thing about it was his face. There was such pure childish innocence in that laughter. I was tempted to join in, but fortunately managed to keep my wits about me enough to focus on restraining him.

"Oh my. You're too much," he gasped, gathering himself. "Tell me, smuggler trash. What is your name? We're negotiating now. I promise not to kill you during a negotiation."

The very air seemed to change with this new attitude. It was easier to breathe. It no longer felt like we were sealed inside a tomb. "Oda," I told him. I hesitated a moment and then answered truthfully. "Oda Sakunosuke."

Dazai nodded, tapping at the backs of my hands with his fingertips. I released him and backed away into a crouching stance. Dazai sat up, meeting my gaze and staring me down as if we were two dogs engaged in a domination battle. I lowered my shoulders slightly, but didn't back down all the way. I have no interest in dominating, but I don't want to die either.

Dazai seemed to get the message. He climbed into a kneeling posture, one knee up, not making any sudden moves, just resting his arm on top of his knee as if negotiating with the mafia in such stances are how things are regularly done. "Tell me, Odasaku. Why are you working for these smugglers? Why risk your life going up against the Port Mafia if you consider life so valuable?"

I hesitated again at the nickname, but decided not to challenge him on it. I figured if we were really negotiating, then there was a chance I'd be able to leave here alive and by peaceful means. I really didn't have anything to lose except my life and Dazai and the Port Mafia had all the cards stacked against me.

"I needed a paycheck," I answered simply.

He seemed to chew over my answer, gazing at me and taking in far more than just me. I could feel him surveying the entire scene and fitting my position into it before arriving at a decision.

"So … If I offered you a position in the Port Mafia – mind you, I'm not an executive … yet, but I can put in a good word – would you accept it? The pay is better than this dirty smuggler ring. The danger's about the same, but you wouldn't risk having me as an enemy and that is quite a better bargain."

I couldn't help but stare at him, at his changed expression. He seemed entirely at ease, happy even. I'd been told his face never altered, but thus far, I'd seen it shocked into silence, smiling at ease, engaging in deep concentration and even bursting into childish laughter. It was a face I liked. I'd even kissed it twice without thinking. I'd do it again in an instant out of gratefulness, but I got the sense that Dazai was the type that learns from his mistakes. I wouldn't be able to shock him the same way again.

"I would be honored to serve the Port Mafia." At the time, the only thing I really understood about the Port Mafia was that Dazai was a part of it. Before, I'd been trained to fear his very name, but at that moment all I wanted was to make it out of there alive. I wanted to follow Dazai. He had a confidence I lacked, a way about him that made me curious to know him more.

He took my oath as I intended it, as genuine. He pulled a pad of paper and a pen from his overcoat pocket and passed them to me. "Come on then, Odasaku. Help me take an inventory of these corpses. Tell me whatever you know about them and then I'll take you to meet your new boss."

This was the beginning of my career as the man on the lowest rung of the Port Mafia ladder. I've held onto to this position, guarding it with my life for three years and counting. I do not want to rise in the ranks; what I truly want I cannot have.

Wanting what I cannot have. This is the theme, the thread, if you will that binds Dazai, myself, and eventually Ango together under the banner of friendship. We are all miserable. When we are together, we aren't alone in misery and that small sliver of light is something to live for.


	3. Chapter 3

_Kunikida_

Looking up from the book, my eyes sting with how wide I've been holding them open. What the hell am I reading? Dazai – the bag of lazy, bandage-wrapped bones, asleep in my bed in the next room over – striking fear into the hearts of the worst of the Port Mafia at age fifteen? The same Dazai who spends half the day avoiding work and distracting me and everybody else with his dreams of the perfect suicide and the other half, playing practical jokes on me that drive me to half-choking the breath out of him?

I wonder … Does he do that so I will not like him? I'd better write that down.

I locate my Ideal and record this new thought and then immediately recall what had shocked me the most. I flip back a couple pages. __If I offered you a position in the Port Mafia – mind you, I'm not an executive … yet, but I can put in a good word –__

Does that mean Dazai became an executive? That he was being considered for the job even at fifteen years old? I shudder. There's an ache in my chest at the idea of Dazai growing up within that organization. Fukuzawa had placed Dazai under my supervision with the instructions to keep a watch for any signs of dark intentions. While he has displayed a somewhat morally-grey scale in his views on justice, I trust him.

I frown at the clock above my kitchen window. It's only been a few minutes since I began reading. Why are my fingers trembling? The blackness of the night outside seems to bend in at the window, wrapping around the apartment building like a huge demonic fist.

I shake myself. These fears are baseless. I have nothing to fear from reading on. If anything, knowledge brings enlightenment. I am not afraid of the dark. 

_Odasaku_

I didn't see Dazai often in the first couple of months after joining the Port Mafia. Our paths wouldn't have crossed with his position, which I'd learned was working as the right hand of Ougai Mori himself. I heard talk about what Dazai was up to from the guys who put me on my jobs, but I was careful to keep my head down and my nose clean.

After hard shifts, I'd wander over to a small tavern I'd been told was Mafia protected. A safe place to unwind.

One night, I sat at the bar nursing a whiskey and losing myself to the peace alcohol afforded when Dazai came in and took the seat next to mine.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, though I remained still. I was going for unaffected. Dazai blew that goal out of the water by slapping his arm across my back and cheerfully breaking the ice. "How's Mafia life treating you, Odasaku?"

I flinched under the backslap, but recovered quickly enough. "You remember my name."

I chance a look over at him, to find him smiling at me as sweetly as a child. He dropped his arm, settling in at the bar. "Of course! I would never forget the man who stole my first kiss …" His cheery disposition soured slightly, his eyes narrowing. "Twice."

My face grew hot. I suspected it had turned bright red. But Dazai didn't comment on that. He gave my knee a pat and then flagged down the bartender. "Bring me one of the usual, boss."

The bartender set a large whiskey down in front of Dazai and handed him a tin of crab meat which Dazai began eating with his fingers in a very distracting manner. My skin tingled all up and down my back. I got the sense Dazai was _trying_ to unsettle me.

"Mafia life?" he asked, repeating his earlier question. I still hadn't answered.

I shrugged. "Decent enough. More regular than my old gig."

I kept my answer short, deliberately not giving up any more about my past than was necessary. I may have been drawn to this man, but I had absolutely no reason to trust him. Dazai popped another bite of crab meat into his mouth, licking his fingertips when I noticed his arms and neck were bandaged. They hadn't been the last time I'd seen him. The words made it out of my mouth before my brain had time to process them.

"You seem to have a few new injuries. I hope they're nothing serious."

His expression darkened like a shadow falling across his eyes. He set the empty can onto the bar, gazing at his whiskey sullenly, poking his ice cube. "Meh," he said.

"Meh?" I pried, only then recalling the word on the streets about what Dazai had been up to recently. Apparently he had teamed up with another Mafia bigshot – their blended abilities known as _Double Black_. Only a couple of days earlier, Double Black had taken out an entire enemy militia alone, demolishing an office district and leveling a full square block of nearby slums. I was scheduled for 'clean-up duty' the next day. I realized I was being impertinent to push Dazai to talk about work when he clearly didn't want to and attempted to backtrack. "It's alright. I didn't mean to pry. If you don't want to talk about it …"

He cut my protests off with a short wave of his hand, giving a long sigh before going on. "It's not that, Odasaku. I do want to talk. The problem I have is that I'm not used to people being willing to listen. They dismiss my complaints as trite." His voice took on a cartoonish mocking tone as he mimicked his critics. "Come now, Dazai. Let's focus on the big picture. Your nonsense is not helping."

I frowned, focusing on my empty glass on the bar instead of looking at Dazai. I figured he might find it easier to talk if he didn't have to look me in the eyes. The bartender came over and refilled our glasses without being asked. Maybe he was getting uncomfortable with the silence that had fallen over us.

Dazai sank forward onto his elbows on the bar, his head bowed like he was studying the view of his ice cube through the side of his glass of whiskey. "I failed to die again," he said at last, his voice sounding soft and forlorn. "It was the perfect opportunity, too. Go out with a real bang, you know? When Chuuya goes into Corruption-mode, there's no turning back. If I could have just held off two more minutes … the explosion would have been like a hydrogen bomb …" His eyes seemed to dance with stars in them as he related this horrific image. "He could have taken me and half the Port out with him. But my stupid conscience got in the way at the last minute. Ougai's voice in my head lecturing. If I was to act so selfish, he'd find a way to resurrect my corpse, then he'd torture me to death – over and over – bringing me back each time. That I can count on. When I die, I want it to be clean and final. I do _not_ want endless pain."

I wasn't sure how the hell I was supposed to respond to such a declaration. It seemed not completely sane and yet, entirely heartfelt and real to Dazai. I chose to say nothing. Just a simple, "Mmm," to let him know I heard him.

"Chuuya isn't talking to me anymore. He apparently thinks I pushed it too far – that he can't be partnered with a suicidal sadist. He'd rather volunteer for a brain-numbing mission abroad than be in the same country as me." Dazai's tone didn't sound sad so much as disinterested. It was hard to follow exactly what sort of emotion he was experiencing, and exactly what he was complaining about. "The overwhelming truth though, the fact, Odasaku, is that I _did_ stop him in time. We both survived." He poked his ice cube, watching it bob around his glass, frowning at it. "Why did I have to be born to such a fate?"

I think I could understand why Dazai's superiors try to shut him down from sharing his thoughts. He's morbid as fuck and it _is_ hard to tell how much of what he says is genuine or an attempt to manipulate. Still, even if he was a bit on the odd side, having somebody hear him out has to count for something. I know I'd feel that way if I were in Dazai's place.

"Sounds rough," I said. I feared saying anything more would encourage him to go off on another tangent.

He turned to look at me, a small smile on his lips. Then he sat up and lifted his glass to toast. I picked mine up and clinked it against his. We drained our drinks together.

"Odasaku," Dazai said. "You're all right."


	4. Chapter 4

_Kunikida_

I squeeze my eyes shut, pausing. Reading these words … the manner in which they're written … I feel as though I am right there alongside Odasaku, witnessing his life as a fly on the wall. I cannot touch him or any of the others who pop up in his story, cannot influence the events in any manner. I am aware of myself and the present around me, but I'm torn in two, frozen, unable to fully exist in either place. The darkness behind my eyelids throbs in time with my pulse. I needed this darkness, this pause after reading that Odasaku had discovered five abandoned children and risked everything he had to rescue them. The esteem I hold for his character has jumped up several notches. I would record that in my notebook if I were able.

Instead, I'm left with only one option: continuing to bear witness to the lives flashing before my eyes until they fully play out. I hesitate a moment longer, recalling the title of this story. I pray that it does not mean what I fear, that the story will end with Dazai's death and me, unable to intervene.

 _Odasaku_

When I next ran into Dazai at the tavern, several weeks had passed. I stepped over the threshold, my eyes instantly drawn to the dark figure he cut through the haze of cigarette smoke. His bearing, his presence had changed somewhat, become stronger and more mesmerizing than ever. The sight flooded my body with a rush of endorphins, the sort of sensation one has when coming home after an extended leave. It made little sense. I tamped down the urge to linger in that moment. Feelings like that are as dangerous as they are intoxicating. With five kids counting on me, I can't risk such an addiction.

"You've been working hard lately," Dazai said as I took the barstool beside him. "I was beginning to think you found my conversation boring."

"Nah." I nudged him in the side with my elbow, careful to not make eye contact with him by flagging down the bartender instead. "You're too weird for me to me to lose interest."

His mock-offended gasp in response tickled me more than it should have. I had to work hard to keep from smiling. "You wound me, Odasaku." He chuckled to himself while the bartender brought me a drink and refilled Dazai's glass. Then, his tone grew more solemn, the temperature in the bar seeming to drop as he spoke. "Real talk, Odasaku. I've done some digging around about you. Please understand that it's part of _my_ job to do this as I recommended you."

I gave a short nod in reply, still not looking directly at him. I focused on the sensation of the glass in my hand, keeping my body still, not showing a hint of weakness. Dazai seemed to read right through me. Watching me posture for him. I waited.

"What I've heard is that you refuse to shoot to kill."

I didn't respond with words. I did turn my head to meet his eyes.

He continued, fixing me in his gaze, his intentions impossible to discern while wearing his poker face. "In a recent raid, we ended up with twice as many captives than we generally allow. That is risky behavior, you know. If the survivor count is high enough, the chance of the enemy redoubling their efforts in a boost of shared morale could turn the tides of a raid long after it should have ended. The Port Mafia pays back attacks on it two-fold. You were made aware of our code, yes?"

I gave a short nod and finished my drink. I had nothing to say in my own defense, nothing I thought he'd understand at any rate.

"On the other hand," Dazai continued, his demeanor softening. "You have proven to be a dedicated and focused worker. You've shown an increased motivation to volunteer for shifts and side jobs nobody else wants …" He paused as if thinking over his last statement, and, not finding what he thought he might, going on. "I'm not saying that you're doing poorly, but you must realize that your performance undershoots your potential by a lot. You'll never rise in the ranks if you hang out on the fringes."

I breathed out softly through my nose, keeping my expression as neutral as I could manage. I'd been trying to fly under the radar, not get noticed and called out by Dazai so quickly. "I know," I told him, and then clarified when he contorted his face in exaggerated confusion. "I'm content where I am. At the bottom."

Dazai comically widened his eyes, his eyebrows rising, then quirked one, squinting the eye on the opposite side, his fingers thoughtfully stroking an imaginary beard on his chin. I could tell he was trying to get a rise out of me, to get _something_ out of me. I almost smiled despite my best efforts. "You are gifted, Odasaku," he declared at last. "I can see that more clearly than most. Why do you not wish to rise to your potential?"

I shrugged. I wanted this line of questioning to end. It wasn't what I came in for, but I also struggled against the urge to open up and spill my secrets to Dazai. I'd never really felt attraction to a guy before … or a girl if I really thought about it. There wasn't time for such thoughts when you spend your life trying to stay alive, but something about Dazai was different. Intriguing. And in his position, he was probably the worst person I could have picked to want to open up to. I had to keep my guards up.

Still … A smidgen of honesty might not hurt … just to test the waters. "I don't want to kill people." I left it at that. I didn't want to go into the details about my past. I'd chosen to chart my own future and to do that, I wanted to leave the past buried. I chased the ice cube in my empty glass around with my finger until I realized I was doing it and stopped. I could sense Dazai wanted to ask me to explain myself. I could feel his eyes on me like an X-ray, picking up far more from my attempts at hiding my body cues than I managed to conceal.

"Okay," he said, a pregnant pause looming in the space between us. And that's all it took. My pulse quickened; my palms started sweating. My heart ached. I had the urge to correct his understanding of my position, to prove to him that my intentions were not only justified, but wise, that they were worthy of his praise or at least, his attention. He'd turned away from looking at me and was playing mindlessly with his hands on the bar top, lacing his fingers together, tapping them, toying with the end of the bandage at his wrist.

I looked away, staring blankly ahead at the line of bottles behind the bar. My stomach curled inward like I'd swallowed a pit when I realized that if I was ever going to be comfortable talking to Dazai the way I wanted to, that the only way he'd ever see me as an equal who chooses not to chase power, was to be honest with him. It was a huge risk. A stupid one. And yet, as I glanced sideways at his profile, taking in the curve of his lips, the secrets and the sadness hiding behind that silly smirk, I was enraptured. The risk was worth it.

"Dazai, I … Can I …" I steeled my resolve, clenching my fists in the jacket fabric on top of my thighs. I flattened my palms and looked directly at him. "Look …" He stared back at me with the same comic confusion he'd worn earlier. He was baiting me. I knew it and I didn't care. I'd made my decision. "I have a confession to make. It's hard to explain, but …"

He held up his hand to silence me at the sound of _confession_. The rest of my sentence lodged itself in my throat.

"I am already aware of your unusually keen interest in my body, Odasaku. It is best that _that_ remain unspoken and undeveloped. Safer. Understood?"

I gaped at him. My face grew hot. _Fuck!_ "No! I mean, yes, understood … but that wasn't what I was going to confess."

Dazai's eyebrows disappeared behind his bangs as he stared at me. He was giving me a double-take, a repeat examination for clues, I suppose. "You _are_ full of surprises. Something other than …" His eyes roved over the state of my hair, my face, my posture. "Oh dear. I did not see _that_ coming." His smirk was back, twitching at one corner and confusing the fuck out of me.

I'd never come across another person quite like Dazai. The delight he took in trying to deduce what I was going to say before I said it, I found equally endearing and annoying. I sighed and made a mental note to myself. **How Dazai ticks: It's best to allow him to play out his flamboyant dramatics without interruption. It makes him happy and is also interesting to see where exactly his mind will jump.**

He continued without pause. "The extra shifts you've been picking up at work, the bags under your eyes. You have the look of a man caught between a rock and a hard place and yet, underneath it all, there's a deep sense of satisfaction. A hope or a joy? You're going to be a father."

I stared at him, unblinking. What the hell was this guy smoking?

"Did you get one of the locals pregnant?" he asked, leering creepily at me. I furrowed my eyebrows, pursing my lips. "No? Don't tell me it's one of _Our_ people! Oh, dear lord … One of your superiors?" His eyes sparkled, shining with entirely too much delight.

"No," I snapped, wanting to smack the delight off his face. His face fell. Then he gave me a suspicious glance like he didn't believe my denial for an instant. My mind spun over my predicament, piecing together how Dazai could have possibly come up with a pregnancy. I realized that by taking in five kids, I had sort have taken on a _father-figure_ role. I conceded that much. "Well, you're not _entirely_ off the mark, but there are no pregnant women involved. I want to make that clear."

Dazai grinned, clasping his hands together under his chin and resting his elbows on the bar. The look he sent me was smugly satisfied, his message clear. He was teasing me for crushing on him. He'd assumed I made the point about there being no women to underline my attraction to him. I ran my fingers through my hair, scrubbing at my scalp. If I stopped to think it over too closely, I'd probably find he'd gotten it right about me, reading more from my body language than even I was aware. I took a deep breath and released it. I hadn't finished.

"I've taken in five kids. Five orphans." I stared at the bar top rather than looking at Dazai. "They aren't living with me in my quarters so they're not preventing me from performing my job. A guy I know and trust agreed to board them for me until I figure out a better arrangement. But you see, they're innocent. They're quite young and … and …" I sensed Dazai beside me, no longer smiling, his presence going as still as a statue. I suppressed a shiver. I was failing to convince him. I realized it, but I kept going anyway, determined to get it out, to demand that he examine all the facets I'd taken into consideration. "If I hadn't taken them in, they'd be dead. That is what I'm telling you. The reason that matters to me is that had I chosen to leave them, it was the same thing in my mind as killing them myself. I don't want to kill people. Also, it may be cliché as fuck, but I had a crappy childhood too. Miserable fucking hell. And I just … want to make a difference. Make some small amends for my past or something. I know that it probably sounds pointless to you, but see, this need, this desire to protect them, to see them make it and to grow up … it's a new sensation for me. It's fascinating and I feel it as a truth that goes down so deep, it reaches my bones. I'd rather die than go back to being the way I was before, like turning against myself." I stopped and took a couple of shaky breaths, surprised as hell at how earnest I was to get this out. "Do you understand any of that?" I asked Dazai. "The slightest grain?"

I finally chanced a look at him and met his eyes. They were the black endless tunnels of nothingness I recalled from the first time we met. He shook his head unnaturally slowly before responding.

"No."

I sighed, my body growing as still as his. I was trying to understand how Dazai's mind worked, at least to the extent that I could empathize with him. I had no idea how to go about it.

"First off," he said, and I was so relieved to hear him speak, my heart leapt. "It's the parents' fault for being incompetent and not preparing their children for potential disasters. It isn't your responsibility at all. How can I understand what you've just told me? You, Odasaku, are the weird one between the two of us." His shoulders relaxed like he was thawing out, becoming more at ease, though his fingers were still twitchy. "Next, you are too quick to trust…" He took a deep breath and let it out. His tone of voice made me think of a teacher disciplining a student, while simultaneously trying to explain why the behavior in need of correcting is wrong in the first place. "Do you know who I am in the Mafia? How dangerous it is to do such a thing under my watch, but more than that, to blindly confess it me with complete faith? If any person other than you did this to me, Odasaku, I wouldn't hesitate to _take care_ of them on the spot. I would pop a bullet in their brain and be done with the problem."

My eyes burned. I couldn't help the reaction, couldn't explain the tears that sprang up. They were angry tears, not sad. I refused to let them fall.

"Do you think I don't know that, Dazai?" I demanded, gritting my teeth. "I am not the errand boy I pass myself off as. That is not who I aim to be when talking to you in here." Dazai raised an eyebrow. "I am confessing this to you because it feels wrong for me not to. If you were anybody other than you, I wouldn't speak a word of it. I'd save the kids in my own time and screw the Port Mafia over at the earliest opportunity like I would with any other authority who tries to indenture me." I breathed hard and fast, working to keep my voice calm and steady while maintaining a grip on the fury rising under the surface of my skin. "I am talking to you now, not as the 'next-in-line-for-executive' … Screw our positions in the Mafia. In here, we're just a couple of guys having a drink."

Dazai sighed when I finished, his smirk a sad echo of its usual mischief. "What are the terms?" He shook his head, his focus sharp upon me from under his long lashes. I sensed a huge disappointment hanging over him, weighing him down. "I can't promise anything, but I will hear you out."

"Huh?" I asked. "What are you talking about?"

His gaze sharpened as he folded his arms across his chest, snapping at me. "Yes, Odasaku, the terms. Pay attention. This is your negotiation. You are the one who brought business to the table in here, not me. What do you want me to do? Are you asking for funds? Time off? Health Insurance?"

I lifted my hands, palms forward as if in surrender. "Whoa, whoa. No. Nothing."

"Nothing?" He repeated.

I reached forward and touched Dazai's wrist where he gripped his own bicep. It drew his attention and seemed to shock the anger from his eyes when they met mine closer up. They were no longer nothingness. They shone slightly, wide and alert. "I only wanted to tell you the truth about what is happening in my life. I like meeting up for drinks in here. If I'm ever away, you'll know why. I don't expect any special favors and I ask nothing of you. I am taking responsibility of the kids on my own accord and I just wanted you to know. That's all."

Dazai's lips trembled for a split-second, his eyes going unfocused. Then he rapped on the bar for more drinks. "Well then …" He gave me a queer look while the bartender filled our glasses. "Tell me. Is this another one of your 'thrill of life' sort of things that go straight over my head?"

He was joking. I could hear it in his voice that he'd picked up a lot more from our conversation that he was letting on, but I let him keep the illusion.

"Pretty much. Yeah."

"Very well," Dazai said, lifting his glass. "To no expectations."

I raised my glass to his. "No expectations."

We drank and then sank into a comfortable silence. It was nice to be able to sit quietly without being alone. I could feel him watching me from his peripheral vision the last fifteen minutes or so of our visit. I showed no signs that I was aware of it. I was content. My heart felt like it had expanded just having gotten that secret off my chest. It was a good thing, I decided, not having something so big go unspoken between us.


End file.
